


Until the Chances Are Spent

by herworship429



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Force Visions, Gen, Inventing my own Force lore, Maybe some romance down the road
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9123520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herworship429/pseuds/herworship429
Summary: Even as the false dawn rushed towards them, a passing shadow caught Jyn’s eye. Surely she was dreaming. Surely there wasn’t a shuttle landing on the beach behind them. Surely there wasn’t a gangly, dark-haired teenager and a tall man with a thick beard standing at the hatch, and surely she and Cassian weren’t being pulled unceremoniously through it by hands she could not see.(In which another family of rogues is there to bring Jyn and Cassian home.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look, another shameless fix-it! Or at least a half-fix-it. Because I cannot believe they gave us such awesome, compelling characters and then immediately took away our toys. I did try to be as canon-compliant as possible, at least up to a point.  
> Contains obvious spoilers for Rogue One. Also a little for Rebels, the RO prequel novel, the Visual Guide, and the novelization.

It was a rare occasion that brought the _Ghost_ and her crew to Base One. She tended to draw attention, even from those who didn’t know about her… special modifications. And like their ship, her crew of assorted misfits were far more than they first appeared. Still, they stood out, even among the other rebels.

But they had been recalled with the rest of the fleet, and nowadays at least, they generally went where they were told. Unless Kanan and Ezra had Jedi business to attend to.

 _That_ was the biggest secret they had left to keep. The moment she’d been informed that Phoneix Squadron would be joining up with the rest of the Alliance, Hera had made it very clear to Sato that the cooperation of the Specters, of _all_ of the Specters, was contingent on assurances that no one else would know about their Jedi crew. So far, he seemed to have kept to his word. Not even High Command seemed aware that a pair of Jedi walked amongst them. Still, they made a point of steering clear of the more populated bases when they could help it.

This time was unavoidable, their orders notwithstanding. Old rumors had been swirling faster of late, stories of the Empire amassing scores of natural resources, about mysterious shipments, about personnel being inexplicably redirected to remote facilities… pieces of a puzzle that no one seemed to be able to piece together just yet. And yet… and yet, Kanan couldn’t help but think of the devastated wasteland that was Genosis. Or the bizarre Imperial shipment from Lothal that they had tried to intercept, only to find debris that had left him with the strangest feeling reverberating through the Force.

It hadn’t made much sense until he’d heard the newest rumors about Jedha.

Kyber crystals. The Empire was hoarding kyber crystals, researching energy production, and suddenly he’d known with utter certainty that this was the cargo that shipment had contained. They’d been mining kyber right out from under him. He felt like an idiot for not putting two and two together. And now they were saying that Jedha City had been destroyed in some kind of mining accident, that everyone on this base knew was no accident at all.

                “Everyone knows, but they won’t do anything about it,” Hera had bemoaned earlier, after the Council meeting let out, “Half of them wouldn’t believe her.”

Her. This Jyn Erso, the daughter of the Imperial scientist whose information was in question. According to Hera, she’d given a rousing speech Hera's own father would have been proud of, and they’d still voted no, despite General Raddus’s unwavering support. Mothma and Organa were on board too, apparently, but even that hadn’t been enough to sway the other senators.  

Kanan, meanwhile, had been making inquiries into Scariff, into the ISB facilities there. Everything she was saying, according to Hera, anyway, seemed to check out.

                “You’re not thinking what I think you are?” Hera asked when she found the files, and the program he used to listen to recorded versions of them, open on his datapad.

He shrugged and offered a roguish grin. He hadn’t been able to see her, _really_ see her, in years, but he knew Hera Syndulla; every inch of her, every smile, every movement like no one else in the galaxy. He couldn’t see, but he knew she was shaking her head, rolling her eyes and suppressing a smile, because she wanted to violate Council orders and go after those plans too.

                “This was a lot easier without the Council breathing down our necks,” he commented dryly. She sighed heavily.

                “Yes, it was. But what’s the point of defeating the Empire if we can’t replace it with democracy? With something better. Even if it takes a little longer to get things done.”

                “Okay, point taken.”

                “Guys!” the sound of Ezra’s shouting brought them both out of the living quarters, through the hallways of the ship and into the cargo bay.

                “What is it, Ezra?” Hera asked.

                “The whole base is going nuts. Apparently someone took off in that stolen Imperial cargo ship they brought back from Edau.”

                “Scuttlebutt says it was that Erso woman, and that Imp pilot,” Zeb added, jerking a thumb back at the main pyramid, “And a bunch of guys from Rebel Intelligence.”

                “What?” Hera sounded shocked. Kanan grinned.

                “They’re going to Scariff anyway,” he turned abruptly and went back inside, navigating carefully through the maze of the day’s cargo.

                “Which guys from Intelligence?” Hera was asking, her brow furrowed. She knew some of them, from the early days.

                “The best of the worst, apparently,” Zeb drawled with a shrug, “You know. Spies. Liars. Assassins. Saboteurs.”

                “You mean people like us?” Sabine asked pointedly. Zeb offered her a toothy grin.

                “ _I_ wasn’t criticizing them, just relaying what I heard. Well? We gonna do something about it, Captain?”

                “Like what? I don’t even know what Command has to say-”

                “All clear of the engines down there?” Kanan called over the comms.

                “Yes, but why-?”

The ship’s engines flared to life.

                “Kanan…” Hera growled under her breath.

 

* * *

 

In the Ghost’s cockpit, Kanan had moved to a rear chair. He knew which controls prepared the ship for takeoff, could work most of the others if he had to… but even though he could still “see” in the Force, his injury had put an end to his piloting days.

He had come to terms with that, mostly. He’d had to come to terms with a lot of things he couldn’t change after Malachor.

He took a moment to meditate before the others came charging in to see what he was doing and demand explanations. He reached out with his mind, searching for any inkling of insight about Scariff, about Jyn Erso and her crew, about this Imperial death machine they were allegedly building… nothing much was coming. His mind, the galaxy, all a blank, grey field; things moved underneath, like a current stirring beneath a calm sea, but there was nothing on the horizon.

Still, he waited a moment longer. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming.

And there it was, bursting over the horizon in his mind, a brilliant light that rushed towards him. It wasn’t just light, he realized dimly. Debris, sand, trees… an explosion on a beach, but an explosion unlike any he’d ever before seen. The ground seemed to have turned on itself. Figures, shadows, knelt on the beach before him, a man and a woman, clutching at one another. He couldn't make out faces, but he could sense them in the Force. They were afraid but calm, facing down their deaths because they knew they would not go alone. And they were right in more ways than they knew. Because there were others there with them too, in the Force.

To Kanan, they weren’t indecipherable shadows.

A man in an Imperial uniform, muttering to himself ( _I’m the pilot. I made it right._ )

A hulking menace of a human with a monstrous repeating blaster, who just quirked a wry smile at the doom speeding across the horizon, like he thought it was funny ( _I protect them. The Force is with me._ )

An Imperial enforcer droid, who really had no right to a place in the Force, but then, didn’t all sentience have that right? Kanan didn’t know. The droid was impervious to fear, but Kanan sensed sadness from him as he watched the two shadows on the beach ( _I tried to save you. I’m sorry I failed._ )

A man who was more metal than flesh, his wild grey hair caught in a phantom breeze, stood to one side, his eyes full of a fevered sort of pain, of paranoia, of hope, all at war there ( _I was your father too. And you deserved better._ )

A man and woman standing together, apart from the others, watching with faces full of pain and hope ( _We wanted better for you than this. But we are glad you aren’t alone, child._ )

A man in a white and black uniform, something that looked like ISB, if it hadn’t been for the snowy cape, paced a few meters away, staring up at the sky and ignoring all the others ( _They took it from me. My triumph, my vision, my Death Star…)._

Finally, there stood a blind man carrying a staff, smiling widely at Kanan. He nodded his head in acknowledgement.

( _I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. As it walks with you, brother._ )

Another light flickered to life, around the neck of the woman, the shadow kneeling in the sand. Kanan knew without seeing what it was. Didn’t he sense his own with him every day, even all those years when it lay unused in his bag, or hidden on his ship? Didn’t he sense Ezra’s? He had learned early, even had an innate ability, to hear the songs of the kybers in all the hundreds of lightsabers he had met through the years. And this, like his own, like Ezra’s, was a song he knew in his bones; a long, laughing note that had always seemed so incongruous with its Jedi’s stern manner. But then, she’d known how to laugh too. He could almost hear her voice again. Almost see her smile.

_Save them, Caleb, for without them, she will never be. And she will save us all._

Suddenly, the world was plunged into darkness. He heard a whispering voice that sent chills down his spine. Saw a distant light glinting off gleaming armor. A Stormtrooper? No… this one was different. The armor was metal, not plasteel, and a red cape slashed over one shoulder, like no trooper he’d ever seen. And then there was a tall man in black robes and a mask. A planet hung in space, a massive canyon cut through its center, emitting a red beam that cut across the core of the galaxy. Whole systems of planets were struck by its light and vaporized.

But figures appeared, and lightsabers flared to life, illuminating faces in the darkness. The green blade revealed an old man, dressed in Jedi robes, his face haggard; the amber blade ( _such an odd color, for a lightsaber_ , Kanan thought absently) illuminated a younger man, long-faced, his dark eyes full of pain and regret; and the final blade, a brilliant blue one, just like Kanan’s own, like Master Billaba’s… that one showed him a girl, her hair pulled away from her face, her eyes gleaming with a fierce determination.

Above it all, a tall, crooked figure hunched on a metal throne, its scarred, hairless face twisted in a sneer, or a smile; a cold laugh echoed through his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

Kanan gasped as the vision ended, and looked up to find himself surrounded by his crew. They were all staring at him in alarm.

                “Kanan?” Hera asked cautiously, “Love, are you okay?”

                “You had a vision,” Ezra interjected. This wasn’t a question. Kanan grinned at his apprentice.

                “Yeah. We have to go to Scariff.”

                “The fleet’s already been ordered there,” Hera explained. Kanan felt the vibrations of the ship and recognized the particular pattern that he’d come to associate with the hyperdrive, “We’re in route. Should arrive soon enough.” 

                “Good,” Kanan muttered, almost to himself, “They’re running out of time…” 


	2. Lightsabers

When they found out that Cassian Andor was one of the ones leading the Scariff mutiny, Kanan nearly told Hera to forget his plan. She’d talked sense back into him, of course, as she always did. So he’d once fought for the Separatists. So he was a brusque and unlikable bastard, and a liar and a killer besides. So his only friend seemed to be that monstrous Imperial K-2 unit that was always following him around. The others he’d taken with him on his suicide mission shouldn’t suffer because Kanan didn’t like their commanding officer very much.

Andor or no, he knew Hera thought he was crazy. They had barely missed being blown to smithereens by enemy ships above the planet, and they were dangerously close to being left behind to fend for themselves by the fleet. Now he was asking her to descend into the middle of an installation that was minutes from being obliterated. The odds of anyone being alive to be rescued were minuscule, and the odds that they would even be able to escape again if they were… those odds were even longer.

But Kanan trusted the Force. He trusted Master Billaba’s memory. He trusted his own senses.

And Hera, as it turned out, trusted him. And that made all the difference in the galaxy.

 

* * *

 

 

She remembered the beach. Remembered the sand between her fingers. The smell of the ocean, clean and salty, even with the hint of ozone that heralded the laser’s arrival. And there was the false dawn rushing towards them. So fast. Too fast. They’d both known there was no escape. Everyone else was already dead. Their strange little band torn asunder, and they had only just found their stride. Jyn Erso took a moment to wonder what might have been, if things had gone differently. If they hadn’t been an unauthorized strike team. If there had been a real extraction plan. If Krennic hadn’t shown up just in time to ruin it all, and if they had somehow all made it out alive.

Maybe it was a mad, selfish thought, but she desperately wished they weren’t all going to die. She wanted to see a world beyond the Empire. She wanted to know a world where Cassian didn’t have to be a killer, where Bohdi didn’t have to run away to appease his moral code, where Chirrut and Baze still had a purpose and a temple to guard.

It was a fever dream. Beautiful and impossible. A wild, mad hope. And yet, as the hand that wasn’t holding tight to Cassian clutched at her mother’s necklace reflexively, she felt… something. A whisper in the back of her mind. A voice that told her all was not lost. That help was coming.

It was a motherly sort of voice, almost. Stern, but forgiving, and kind.

_He’s never let me down before_ , the voice told her.

She thought, for an instant, that she had heard this voice before. That she had dreamed of it, that it had whispered to her as a child, for all those years, every time she reached for the kyber crystal around her neck… she used to think it was her mother, until she’d realized she was being foolish.

Her mother was dead, and crystals didn’t talk to people. Except, lately every time she touched that crystal, some fortunate stroke of luck seemed to befall her, and she was sure she had heard that voice again this time. Surer than she’d ever before been.

All at once, she heard Cassian gasp. Then there was a blast of heat and wind, but it was coming from behind her, not the blast ahead of them, and suddenly something, some _force_ was hauling them to their feet, dragging them across the beach. Sand flowed through fingers clutching irrationally at the ground that seemed to be rushing under them, as if invisible hands were pulling them. Because there were no hands; no flesh, no footsteps, no one to pull them to safety. And yet, Jyn felt cold metal beneath her fingers.

                “Don’t worry,” a new voice told her just before her eyes rolled back and she finally let the dark take her, “It’s going to be alright now.”

 

* * *

 

Improbably, Jyn Erso blinked awake and found that she did not feel dead. Or at least she imagined that dead wouldn’t hurt this much. And also there was the fact that she was staring up into an alien face. A Twi’lek, she realized dimly, green-skinned, wearing a grey cap over her tattooed headtails, her eyes full of concern.

                “She’s waking up, Kanan,” the Twi’lek said to someone, “It’s working, keep it up!”

The ground seemed to shake and there was a frustrated grunt of reply from somewhere to her left, “I’d be happy to, if Sabine can keep us steady.”

                “Outrunning Imperials here,” an irritated female voice called back over the intercom, “Maybe if _General_ Syndulla could return to her post, we might stand a chance?”

                “On my way,” the Twi’lek woman rolled her eyes, as if this sort of banter in the middle of a battle was normal, “Keep it up, boys.”

                “Hey, hey,” a new voice, younger than the one who answered to ‘Kanan’, shushed her when she tried to sit up, “Stay still. You’re still injured.”

                “Who… who are you?” she finally got a good look at their rescuers. The boy was probably nearing twenty, if he hadn’t already reached it. He spoke with the easy cadence of the Outer Rim, a trait she had noted the whole crew seemed to share. Gangly, with close-cropped dark hair, and wide blue eyes, he wore an orange flight suit, and a concerned expression.

                “At least that blast took out the planetary defenses,” Jyn heard the Twi’lek woman over the comms, “No generator, no shield.”

                _No generator, no shield,_ Jyn thought, feeling foolish all of the sudden, _Why didn’t we think of that?_

                “There’s plenty left to worry about, Hera,” a new voice, this one accented and vaguely inhuman, commented bitterly.

                “I’m Ezra,” the boy hovering over her glanced at his companion, who was ignoring them both, all of his attention fixed on Cassian. Jyn’s stomach lurched at the sight of him, lying unconscious on the floor, pale and bleeding. Her mind replayed the sight of him falling back in the tower, the sickening sounds of his body hitting the crossbeams and the sight of him lying limp, unmoving on the platform below. She'd thought he was dead. She couldn't imagine the injuries he'd pushed through to get up to her. Broken ribs, spinal fractures, organ damage... they probably both were suffering from radiation poisoning of some kind. Maybe that was why she felt so nauseous. Or maybe it was just the ship they were on shaking and groaning.

                “What’s he doing?” Jyn tried to crawl towards her partner, “Who is he? Where are we-?”

                “You’re on our ship. The _Ghost_. Don’t worry, we’re rebels, like you. _His_ name is Kanan, and he’s trying to help Captain Andor,” Ezra’s attempts to explain patiently were grating on her nerves. Her fingers strayed to her necklace again, and once more she thought she heard a woman whisper, _Good. He’s finally listening to my lessons._

                “Help him how?” her head was spinning now from the sudden movement she was attempting.

                “With the Force.”

Chirrut’s voice echoed in her mind. _I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me._

She stared up at the kid named Ezra, overwhelmed and bewildered. A brittle, sarcastic laugh escaped her lips, “What?”

                “We’re, uh… well, it’s hard to explain…”

                “How did you find us so fast?”

His brow furrowed, “Kanan thought he sensed… well, there’s something weird about you. In the Force, I mean… something you’re carrying, it kind of feels like a-”

His hand went to a cylindrical object hanging on his belt almost self-consciously, or defensively. Jyn stared at it.

A sudden memory came back to her. She had been young, only six or seven years old. Her father had been trying to explain about his work. He’d gotten some kind of special file collection from the Imperial archives on Coruscant. There were blueprints in it, plans for a special weapon. A ceremonial weapon once used by the Jedi, a weapon powered by the crystals he was so fascinated by…

Jyn stared at the object hanging from Ezra’s belt. Then she noted that a similar one hung from his friend’s belt too. Her last thought before she fell back into unconsciousness was to ponder how excited both of her parents would have been in her shoes.

Lightsabers. They carried lightsabers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't finished Catalyst yet, but that part about Krennic giving Galen a box of kyber crystals from the lightsabers (presumably) of fallen Jedi kind of stuck with me. So maybe that crystal Lyra had was one of those. And maybe even dead Jedi are still bonded to their crystals. 
> 
> Or, you know, I'm just making things up. Either way, thanks for the nice things you all have said, and I hope you continue to enjoy this.


	3. Second Chances

Kanan Jarrus had never been much of a healer. He had always gravitated towards sparring, towards saber training, towards tactical lessons; and he’d always held the view that a bacta patch would probably be of better use than anything a Jedi could do. But Master Billaba had wanted to give him a proper and rounded education, he supposed, so she had made it part of their lessons, no matter how small a part it might have been.

He was glad now.

The girl was fine. A little rest, keep off the bum leg for a few days, and she’d be good as new. Her friend wasn’t so lucky. The last time he and Hera had run into Cassian Andor they hadn’t exactly gotten along, but he hadn’t truly wished him any harm. Harm had found him anyway. Broken ribs, a nearly-fractured spine, a mild concussion… to say nothing of the minor radiation sickness from the blast that would have killed them both if he hadn’t sensed that spear of kyber crystal.

Funny thing, the Force. He only wished it, and his vision, had brought them to the surface sooner.

Still, it could have been worse. Andor would require a visit to a real bacta tank upon their rendezvous with the fleet, but Kanan felt that he and Ezra could keep him alive for the moment.

It was Ezra’s turn to babysit their mostly-unconscious patient, so Kanan figured he’d have a word with this Jyn Erso they had all heard so much about.

                “You should be off that ankle,” he informed her dryly from the doorway to the main living area. She looked over at him sharply. Her eyes, he imagined, had narrowed. He could sense her frustration, her annoyance.

                “You should let me see Cassian,” she argued.

                “You both need to rest,” he countered, leaning on the frame of the hatch and crossing his arms across his chest. She was staring at him. He couldn’t see her expression, but he sensed… curiosity, hostility; she was still unsure about him and the rest of the Ghost’s crew. Andor, though, she trusted him completely. More, she was a little desperately protective over him. He felt his mouth quirk into a reflexive sneer at the thought.

“You know him,” she said suddenly, “Cassian, you know him. You’ve met him before.”

“Yes,” he bit the word off before he could stop himself. She was full of surprises. It wasn’t like with Ezra (well, he was fairly sure nothing would ever be quite like it was with Ezra); his apprentice was a beacon in the Force, unmistakable and unavoidable, like a klaxon going off in the midst of a long silence. Jyn Erso was quieter. She whispered more than she screamed. But she, too,  _shone_.

She’d have never been a Jedi, even in the old days. But a recruiter might have noticed her. Might have tested her. And she was obviously good at reading people. The kyber crystal around her neck helped amplify it a bit.  

“You don’t like him much,” she continued with a shrug, “I didn’t either, at first.”

“You were born in a Separatist prison,” Kanan muttered, “You shouldn’t like him either.”

“How did you know that?” she demanded, a new anger in her voice.

“You think the Alliance didn’t do their homework? They know plenty about you.”

“And what exactly does me being born in a Separatist prison have to do with Cassian?”

“He didn’t tell you? His homeworld was Separatist. He fought for them, when he was a kid,” Kanan laughed mirthlessly, moving towards one of the chairs where he planned to make himself comfortable for the next few hours, at least until Ezra came calling for his help.

She watched him with narrowed eyes, “So? He was a kid, like you said. I fought for Saw Gerrera when I was a kid. Some people would say that makes me a terrorist.”

“Would they be wrong?” Kanan muttered in reply. She bristled.

“What would you know?”

“You’re right,” he probably should have been angry, but he found himself only tired of fighting with her, “I was only on the front lines when I was thirteen. I only served alongside soldiers. I only survived the Clone Wars _and_  the Purge.”

She stared at him for a long moment, mouth open like she wanted to scream something at him, but couldn't find the words. Then she turned on her heel and left the room abruptly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow he wasn’t surprised when, nearly half a standard hour later, she returned, peeking in to watch him as he got up to start the kaf machine.

She was watching him maneuver across the room, and he could sense the question her pride wouldn’t let her ask. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, despite their earlier argument.

                “It’s a bit of both, actually.”

                “What?” she asked, even as she edged back into the room.

                “You were wondering how I get around like this,” he gestured towards his cloudy eyes, “Whether it’s just memory or if I use the Force. It’s a bit of both.”

                “The kid… Ezra. He said you found us because of this,” she pulled the necklace off, holding it out to him.  Kanan froze.

                “Do you know what that is?”

                “A kyber crystal. My father told me they powered Jedi lightsabers.”

                “Yes, but it’s more than that. They call out to us in the Force. Our crystals _choose_ us. And they resonate with us. Even after we’re gone,” his voice was full of pain and sorrow, “That one chose General Depa Billaba, a long, long time ago.”

                “You knew them, whoever they were,” Jyn realized quietly, staring at the crystal in her hand, "Here. You should have it. It's not really mine, anymore than it was really my mother's."

                “Keep it," he said quietly, "It found you for a reason. And yes, I knew her. She was my master. That’s why I came looking for you. She asked me to.”

                “Why?” Jyn managed after a long, pregnant silence. Her voice sounded a little strangled, even to her own ears. Kanan cocked his head slightly as he turned towards her.

                “I don’t know yet. But it seemed like it was important.”

                “Are Jedi always this frustrating and cryptic?” she demanded irritably.

                “Try being his apprentice,” Ezra announced himself with a sardonic grin. At Kanan’s frown, he jerked a thump back towards the crew quarters.

                “He’s not awake, exactly, but he’s starting to move. Talk in his sleep. I figured you might want to know. Also, Hera said to tell you that we're almost back to Yavin.”

                “I’ll check on him, thanks Ezra,” Kanan shouldered past. He glanced back at Jyn before she had the chance to open her mouth, “Not yet. Rest.”

Before he could leave the room, she grabbed his arm.

                “Just because he used to be something doesn’t mean he still is.”

                “Look, you have a point, about the Separatist thing. I’ll acknowledge that.”

                “I’m not talking about _that_ ,” she made a face at him, “Eadu, Scariff, they changed us. Whoever you knew... he's not the same anymore.”

Kanan sighed, “Okay, I get the message. Second chances, right?”

                “Maybe he’ll give you one too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably taking a bunch of liberties with Jedi lore, and lightsaber lore, and with how Jedi healing abilities work. Apologies to the purists.
> 
> Thanks again, if you're still with me.


	4. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few changes made here, seeing as new info keeps emerging about Cassian's backstory and I'm also working on a tie-in about how he first met the Specters...

Cassian Andor dreamed of fire.

There was Scariff, of course. That brutal, brilliant, beautiful light that engulfed them… the false dawn that would, at last, bring his death. He should have been ready for it. Shouldn’t have regretted it. But then there was _her_ , and she was warm and steady in his arms, and he didn’t know Jyn Erso, not really, but he might have been able to, and he found himself desperately, hopelessly wishing he had gotten that chance.

But then he was back on Eadu, back amid the freezing rain and the falling bombs, and he had Galen Erso in his sights, and could not pull the trigger. He had _failed_ ; he could see Draven’s sneer ( _how many dozens of men have you killed, why is this one any different?_ ), he could see clearly that it didn’t matter if he lived anyway, he was finished, because if he couldn’t kill one man just because of _her_ …

And then there was Jedha, a great wave of dirt and rock and sand threatening to crush them, and along with them thousands of years of history and culture and religion, and so many lives, all gone in a flash of green fire, and for what? Weren’t they supposed to stop this?

_Failure, always failure._

But now the flames were back on that planet whose name he always seemed to forget, back in that Imperial installation (at least what remained of it after Sabine Wren decided she didn't want it to exist anymore), where he had put a blaster bolt in the back of a KX enforcer droid, and then carefully dragged its corpse back to his ship to resurrect a friend from the ashes and burnt metal.

_His best friend. His only friend. Oh, Kay…_

There had been a fire burning the day he met Draven too, lit in an old barrel on some world whose name he never knew, one of the Rebellions many temporary bases, the first one he’d ever seen. He remembered the cutting wind on his face. The sight of his rescuer slinking off, looking defeated and ashamed, to await debriefing; Draven would explain, years later, frequently and at length whenever he screwed something up, that his “rescue” had botched the whole op that day. That he was never meant to be here, and that it had cost the spy that had saved him his career, so he had better prove himself worth it.  

He could still see a much younger Draven, shaking his head in disgust. And then his cold, calculating eyes had turned on the stubborn, hopeless, angry boy they’d pulled off Carida. An odd sort of half-smile had materialized on his face, and even then, Cassian remembered thinking that it was a smile that couldn’t be trusted.

 _At least we got something from this,_ he’d said, his tone bored and even, _You’ll have to do._

Like he’d sensed it even back then, that this would be someone who would be _useful_ to him. Someone who would follow orders, all of them, even the terrible ones, because what else did young Cassian Andor have but the Rebllion?

He'd been all-but born a rebel. He'd been fighting for freedom, for himself, for his people, for the galaxy, his entire life. So the rebel kept rebelling. It was the only thing he knew how to do.

And then the fires were on Carida, set by the explosives and blasterfire that had rained down from his father's friends on the rooftops, even as he threw rocks at Clone Troopers to distract them... some part of him, even then, must have known these tactics were wrong. But he obeyed his father. And he'd believed in the cause, as much as a six-year-old boy could. Right up until he watched his father standing over an injured trooper, ready to murder the man in cold blood, and no matter how afraid he'd been of the Republic's soldiers, he'd tried to stop him. Tried to keep him from becoming the monster.

The other trooper had had a far faster, more effective way of doing it. The kind that involved a blasterbolt to his back, and left Cassian an orphan.

But now the fire burned through the ice and snow of Fest, back on his war-torn homeworld, back amid the warlords, careless businessmen, and corrupt tyrants who had seized and lost power, one after another, each worse than the one before. It had been there when Count Dooku had come, years before even that, when he was so young he almost didn’t remember the engines of his ship rumble as it made its landing approach. Cassian had watched from his father’s shoulders as the old man gave a pretty speech about how he could change their plight. He could, he promised, turn disparate rebels into a force that would make a _difference_.

Cassian had believed him, once. Now, he realized, he had never made more of a difference than he had on a doomed paradise of a planet, with Jyn Erso at his side. He could only hope those he had passed the baton to would know what to do with it.

At last, the fires burned out. But Cassian Andor did not die.

He opened his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Cassian's backstory in canon seems a little... confused. (Also, how is he only like 26?). But I did my best with trying to reconcile timelines and such. Also it's a dream sequence, so I guess it doesn't have to be a perfect memory.
> 
> In the novel, he talks about having a mentor in the Rebellion, and in my headcanon, I kind of like to think that it was Draven, even though Draven is an asshat.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! (and saying such nice things in the comments)


	5. Menace and Monster

                “He almost left you behind, you know,” a melodic female voice informed him sardonically. Cassian blinked awake, waiting for his blurred vision to focus on the Twi’lek woman sitting next to the bed he was tucked into. For an instant, all he could think was _Jyn, where is she, she was here-_ then he realized that it wasn’t Jyn speaking. Whoever was seemed familiar, as did the stark white room. He forced his foggy mind to focus. Bacta tanks against the wall. Medical droids hovering nearby. There was a young woman with a long, patient face wearing a white tunic waiting nearby, watching carefully. Then he forced his focus on the woman speaking to him, and groaned when the picture finally cleared.

                _Syndulla_. Of course it would be the _Ghost_ that pulled them from the clutches of certain death. He glanced around, expecting to find her pet Jedi standing guard over her, but was surprised to find they were alone, apart from the doctor and the droids.

                “Why didn’t he?” Cassian finally croaked a reply.

                “Well, your friend Erso wouldn’t let go of you, for starters,” Hera smiled. It seemed almost genuine, amused.

                “That doesn’t sound like Jyn,” he struggled to sit up as she passed him a glass of water. The doctor made a move forward.

                “Careful, Captain Andor. You’ve just finished the last bacta treatment, but you injured your spine. Try not to move too much.”

                “I’m fine,” he waved her off, trying to ignore the black spots that fuzzed the edge of his vision for a moment.

                “What, did she want to kill you too?” Syndulla’s mouth quirked in a grin, “What’d you do to _her_?”

                He fell silent, and when he finally spoke his voice was quiet, sad and very serious, “I almost killed her father.”

                Hera blinked at him. Remorse? She’d watched this man murder without a second thought. For no other reason than to avoid leaving a witness, even when that witness had proven their loyalty to the Rebellion. She’d watched him ruthlessly kill enemies she and her crew would have left alive. He’d nearly left her and her crew to die, written off as a necessary sacrifice. This was not the sort of man she would expect remorse from. Then again, he knew Kanan and Ezra's secret. They had revealed it trying to save his sorry hide, so maybe he had some decency, because as far as Hera could tell, he had never once told a soul.

                “Almost?” she echoed, her voice quiet.

                “Orders. She didn’t even have to know… but I didn't do it. Or couldn’t do it. Draven wasn’t very happy with me,” his voice was cracked, hollow, despite his brittle laugh, “I probably shouldn't have told you that. I think he’ll continue to be disappointed.”

He didn't sound like he cared if Draven was disappointed. And while she hadn’t known him for very long, or very well, that didn't sound like _him_. Everything she knew about Captain Cassian Andor told her that him choosing to disobey a direct order from a superior officer, from _the_ superior Intelligence officer, was… unprecedented. Out of character. And to not care if that officer was upset about it...

It made her wonder just who this Jyn Erso really was, and how she managed to inspire such a change of heart. Or maybe that first impression of him years ago, before the Albarrio mission went wrong, before the charm fell away and he showed what she thought were his true colors... maybe that hidden gentleness hadn't been an act; maybe that sad, lonely, determined man who cared too much, maybe that was who he had really been all along.

It also made her wonder just what Draven, who was waiting eagerly outside the door to debrief his injured officer, would have to say about this little revelation. If Andor was going to start being difficult… well, that didn’t bode well for him. Or Erso, for that matter.

The silence in the room was making Hera uncomfortable, so she changed the subject abruptly, “It’s strange, seeing you without that menace of a droid.”

She'd meant it as a joke. The rest of her crew had bristled at the very sight of K-2SO, but Hera had had a temperamental rust bucket of her own for a partner for too many years to bat an eye over it. But her tone must not have carried right, or maybe he just wasn't in the mood for a joke. Either way, she sensed immediately this was the wrong way to direct the conversation. Andor stiffened, his jaw tightened and he clenched one fist. Angry.

No, he was livid.

                “If it hadn’t been for Kay, we wouldn’t be alive now,” he snarled at her, “All the others who went down there to help us, you’d call them heroes, wouldn’t you? Kaytu gets that respect too. Do you hear me, _General_? Imperial paint or not, he was one of us.”

                “Okay,” Hera said softly, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He relaxed a bit, as if he realized as soon as the words left his mouth that he had overreacted, and a sheepish look crept onto his face, “Besides, you’re one to talk. I still have a scar from where that little monster of yours electrocuted me.”

Hera grinned.

                “Your crew. Everyone is alright? Everyone made it?” he asked, more serious this time.

                “Yes. The _Ghost_ , too, though she’ll need an overhaul, and we’re probably on Imperial radar again,” she shrugged and stared at the floor, “I’m sorry about your team.”

                “They at least got the plans,” he sighed, relief coloring his tone, "Have they decrypted them yet?"

He wasn’t expecting the stricken look on her face. He hadn't expected her to hesitate.

 

* * *

 

 

                “They _lost_ the plans!” Jyn was what could only be described in Basic as spitting mad. She’d been stomping around the tarmac and kicking cargo containers for the better part of an hour, and Sabine Wren wasn’t sure she blamed her. She’d seen from afar, as they waited for the _Phantom_ to return, the destruction on Scariff; she’d seen some of the casualty lists. The numbers were high. Too high. And that was to say nothing of what was now being reported over the Holonet about Alderaan. With all that had been lost in getting that information, to know that Princess Leia was an Imperial prisoner and that the plans were gone, hidden somewhere they might never be found, which did no one any good... and she’d heard enough about Jyn’s impassioned speech to the council from Hera to know what she, personally, had lost to the Empire, all over this battle station project.

Her father. Her mother. Her childhood. Nearly everyone who’d ever stayed, who’d ever come back for her. They’d all died for something she thought was a surefire lock, and now it wasn’t. Now, they might never destroy it.

Yeah. Sabine would have been spitting mad too.

It didn’t help that, as soon as she had been cleared from medcenter, Jyn suddenly found herself being turned away every time she wanted to see her partner. She never _called_ Captain Andor that, of course, but there were some people who just went together. She hadn’t spent a lot of time with Andor during that disastrous mission in the Albarrio Sector, and whatever she thought of someone who could be _that_ comfortable around an Imperial KX unit, even if he had done the reprogramming, maybe that was why she and Ezra had never really had much of an opinion about him, but he had struck her as someone a lot like her; tough, ruthless, but lonely. Sabine had changed a lot, after meeting Hera and Kanan, after joining their crew. She suspected that Jyn and the others had done much the same to him.

For an instant, Sabine tried to imagine if she was in his shoes. Everyone dead, except maybe Ezra, or Zeb; the two of them left to cling to each other in the wide galaxy, without their family. She'd survive, of course. She'd live. But it would never be the same. She would never be the same. She would feel...

_Lost._

She shuddered a little at the thought.

Jyn was more like Ezra. Impulsive, foolhardy, the first to jump headlong into the abyss just to see what was down there. And this stillness was driving her crazy. She’d spent an hour yelling at the door to the medcenter, demanding they let her see Andor, who by all accounts was still unconscious anyway. She was obviously used to people being so annoyed by her they just conceded to her demands so she would just _stop_.

The Rebellion hadn’t been so considerate. One of the generals, someone Sabine vaguely recalled interviewing her and Zeb and Ezra at some point early on in their joining the larger rebellion, had stood between her and the door, smirking at her like he’d won some kind of battle.

He had let Hera in, though. She’d asked to see him first, though Sabine had no idea why.

Then that General had told Jyn about the _Tantitive IV_. He’d had  the decency to seem a little sheepish about it, at least.

                “She’s still angry?” Ezra appeared from inside the cargo hold, sitting on the edge of a crate next to her.

                “Wouldn’t you be?”

                “Yeah,” he sighed heavily.

                “It would help if Hera could get her into the medcenter,” Sabine rubbed at the back of her neck, which had developed a crick occasionally since Scariff. Ezra gave her a pointed look and grinned.

                “Or _we_ could get her into the medcenter…”

                “And how exactly do you propose we do that?”

He pointed out where she was still rubbing at her neck, “You obviously were injured in the battle. It just takes time, sometimes, for some injuries to show themselves, right?”

She rolled her eyes. This logic was dubious at best, and wasn’t likely to get them past a medical droid, much less an actual doctor. Still…

                “It has been getting worse,” she finally conceded in a deadpan, “I suppose I should get it checked out. What good friends I have, looking out for me.”

Ezra shot her a grin and launched off the crate, “And those good friends will even walk you over there, just to make sure everything’s okay.”

Sabine watched Jyn tense up as Ezra approached; then relax, only to look back at the Mandalorian with an incredulous look that quickly morphed into a grin.

As they shouldered past a few passing pilots on the way to the medcenter, Jyn even offered up a whispered ‘thank you’.

                “Don’t thank me. He’s the idiot who came up with the plan,” she nodded towards Ezra.

Jyn grinned, but it quickly faded as they came around a curve and found guards on the door. Sabine glanced at the other woman.

               “On second thought, thank us if this works.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its nice to see people bonding over their sassy reprogrammed droids, isn't it?  
> A side note about Cassian knowing about Kanan and Ezra... maybe I just misread that scene, but Cassian seemed like he was expecting Baze to say 'yes, of course he is' when he asked if Chirrut was a Jedi. And it seemed like a weird question to ask if you had never met a Jedi and seen what they were capable of (which he probably wouldn't have during the Clone Wars, since he was, like, 5).
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I am a firm believer that Kanan and Ezra make it almost to TFA relatively unscathed (I mean, who else is Luke gonna leave in charge of the Jedi temple while he and Ben are off exploring wild space and looking for the origin of the Force or whatever they're doing during Bloodlines?). And yes, I am implying that Cassian shows up on Rebels at some point, because he was a Fulcrum agent, and it totally makes sense, and this should be a thing that happens. And since he seems to be basically Hera if Hera had been from a Separatist world, I mostly really want him and Hera and Kanan and Rex in the same room discussing the Clone Wars. But enough of my rambles. 
> 
> I have no idea how far I'll go with this, but thanks for reading.


End file.
